


Fairy Godmaid

by literaryoblivion



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [94]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Sick Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3994390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryoblivion/pseuds/literaryoblivion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets sick occasionally, sure, who doesn’t? But, he’s never been this sick. So sick that he is completely out of it and doesn’t even know what day it is or remembers how he got into bed because he’s almost positive he remembers laying down on the couch a little bit ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairy Godmaid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fauvistfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauvistfly/gifts).



> This is super belated, but I started this for [Syl](http://fauvistfly.tumblr.com) because she was sick a while back, and then I got an anon prompt on Tumblr asking for a similar fic. Soooo I'm sorry this is so late. :)
> 
> The tumblr post for this can be found [here](http://literaryoblivion.tumblr.com/post/119709584758/i-just-had-four-wisdom-teeth-pulled-5-if-a).

Stiles gets sick occasionally, sure, who doesn’t? But, he’s never been this sick. So sick that he is completely out of it and doesn’t even know what day it is or remembers how he got into bed because he’s almost positive he remembers laying down on the couch a little bit ago.

He vaguely remembers his dad saying to take it easy and call if he needed something before shuffling out the door that morning, and he knows the day before Melissa and Deaton both checked over him to verify that whatever Stiles had wasn’t supernatural in nature. They both prescribed him rest and fluids and left him alone.

What he doesn’t remember though is how he suddenly has a damp washcloth on his forehead and warm gentle fingers brushing his cheek and neck as whoever it is tucks him into bed.

“Whaaa--” he starts to say, but is cut off when a low, quiet deep voice tells him to shush.

“Here,” the voice says, a hand coming to rest on the back of Stiles’s neck to help him sit up enough to sip the water that has suddenly appeared in front of him. He takes a few sips and some of it spills and dribbles down his chin, but before he can comment, the person helping him is wiping it up. 

“Hmmm,” Stiles says, and in his head he hopes it conveys the thanks he means it to be, but from the soft chuckle he hears from the other person, probably not.

“Get some sleep,” the voice tells him, and he nods, his eyes already closed as he feels the sheets pulling up around him. He vaguely registers that the voice sounds familiar, not his dad but someone else, before he loses consciousness while fingers brush his hair off his forehead.

~

When he wakes up, he feels slightly better, but he has to take a minute to register his surroundings and ensure he is in fact still in his room. Normally his room is a mess, clothes and books and various items strewn about that to anyone else will appear as a disorganized disaster, but he knows exactly where everything is… usually.

But, everything has been picked up; he can actually see his floor! His papers and books are in a neat pile on his desk, his dirty clothes are actually in the hamper instead of the floor near by it, and… he’s pretty sure his bookshelf is even alphabetized, which he sure as hell did not do, despite his fevered state. His nightstand has a full glass of water and a couple of pills by it, so he swallows them and downs the water.

He stands, and while he’s a bit dizzy, he feels like he’s up to at least walking downstairs and trying to microwave some soup to eat before he passes out again. It’s a slow walk because with every step he feels like he’s going to fall and tumble down the stairs, but by the time he reaches the bottom he gives a victory cheer to himself. Of course it results in a coughing fit that has him doubled over, gripping the back of the couch as he tries to breathe. Suddenly, he has strong hands and arms lifting him up and carrying him to the couch.

After his fit is over, he looks up. Turns out the hands and arms belong to Derek.

“Here,” Derek says, holding out a glass of water, which Stiles takes willingly and after a few gulps sets the glass on the coffee table in front of him.

“What’re you doing here?” Stiles croaks out through a sore throat and stuffy nose. 

“Came to check in on you. Make sure you were okay.”

“Oh,” Stiles says because… that’s nice, actually. Part of him thinks his dad sent Derek, but he’d rather not have Derek confirm that fact and just pretend Derek is doing this out of the goodness of his heart. 

“I… uh brought some soup,” Derek says, and Stiles is pretty sure Derek is blushing when he says it. 

“You made me soup?”

“I didn’t say I made it. Just that I brought it. Are you hungry?”

Stiles nods and moves to stand, but Derek keeps him sitting with a hand on his shoulder. He watches as Derek leaves for the kitchen and listens as Derek rummages through the cupboards and drawers for a bowl and spoon and heats up the soup. When he reemerges with the soup, he hesitates before handing it over to Stiles, like he contemplated about actually feeding it to Stiles and then thought better of it.

After a spoonful, Stiles moans. He doesn’t care what Derek says, this tastes homemade to him. Of course it could be the fact that he’s starving and he’s not really a good judge of taste given his condition at the moment, but this soup at the very least did not come from a can.

Derek sits and watches awkwardly as Stiles devours the soup. Halfway through the bowl, Stiles mutters that Derek can turn on the TV and watch that instead, and Derek’s face reddens as he reaches for the remote and flips through the channels before landing on a made for TV movie.

Now full and sated, Stiles sets his empty bowl on the table and leans back and makes himself comfortable. It doesn’t take long for him to fall back asleep, only vaguely aware of the show Derek’s watching beside him. He’s just barely conscious enough to feel a blanket drape over him, but isn’t awake enough to comment on it.

~

This time when he wakes up, he’s still on the couch, and the TV is on, but it’s his dad not Derek sitting next to him.

“How you feelin’ kiddo?” his dad asks when he notices Stiles stirring awake.

“Better,” he replies, which is true, but he still feels achy and stuffed up, so not 100% 

“Melissa said you were supposed to take it easy,” the Sheriff admonishes. 

“I did!” 

“Then why did I come home to find the entire kitchen spick and span?”

Stiles opens his mouth and then shuts it, shrugging as an answer, because honestly he doesn’t know either. Wait… Derek was here earlier...

His dad twists his mouth but doesn’t continue the interrogation, turning back to the show he was watching. “There’s some leftover soup in the fridge. You want me to heat some up for you?”

Stiles shakes his head and stands from the couch, a response he should have verbalized instead because the shaking makes him feel worse. “I’m going to pass out upstairs.” He’s not sure what time it is, but if his dad’s home it must be late. His entire concept of time is out of whack because of being sick, and the thought of food to him at this moment is nauseating. 

He slowly makes his way back up to his room, and sacks out on the bed.

~

It takes him a few more days to feel well enough to leave his house, but Derek stops by with soup and medicine everyday. Maybe even more than that because, in all honesty, Stiles’s head is pretty foggy and he can’t really remember.

But every day he notices something that he has no recollection of doing himself: like his laundry is all clean and folded, all his video games are back in their correct boxes and lined up neatly by his console, his bathroom is clean. He has soup enough for days in the fridge, and his dad yells at him for vacuuming even though he is positive he did nothing of the sort.

Once he’s a little more coherent towards the end of his recovery, he realizes that his fairy godmaid must be Derek as he’s the only one who has come by to visit while his dad’s been out. Well, Scott’s come, but Scott would _not_ have willingly done Stiles’s laundry or cleaned the bathroom. And he thinks his dad sent Parrish over to check on him when he worked a double shift, but again, he wouldn’t be cleaning up after Stiles.

Except for when he confronts Derek about it once he’s feeling 100%, Derek denies it.

“You’re saying you _didn’t_ come over and nurse me back to health and reorganized my books while I was out cold?” Stiles says, standing with his hands on his hips in Derek’s loft because Derek refused to answer him by text.

Derek shrugs. “Maybe you did it and don’t remember.”

“Nuh huh. I would have remembered doing loads of laundry and cleaning the kitchen.”

“Maybe it was someone else,” Derek offers.

Stiles narrows his eyes. Fine. If Derek’s going to be a shithead about this and not fess up so he can fucking thank him, he’ll pretend it was someone else. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says nonchalantly. “Maybe you’re right. I just wanted to know who it was so I could give them my thanks. But if it’s not you, it must have been someone else. Now that I think about it… I think it might have been Deputy Parrish.” 

Derek jerks his head, his brow furrowed. “Parrish?”

Stiles nods, biting back a smirk. “Yeah, I remember him coming by a few times. I even think we might have cuddled? He’s pretty cute.” While Stiles does think Parrish is attractive, he’s been crushing on a certain stubborn werewolf for too long to have his feelings transferred to the deputy. The cuddling thing is totally not true, but he’s gotta get a confession out of Derek somehow. 

Derek makes a choked off noise, and Stiles doesn’t miss the frown Derek’s now sporting as he continues.

“I don’t really know what I should give him though, you know, as thanks. I mean I could do cookies or something, but I’m kind of terrible at baking.” He taps a finger on his chin, looking up at the ceiling thinking of something to really get a rise out of Derek.

“Maybe I could give him a blow job.”

“What?!” Derek roars out, his face red.

“A blow job. He’d like that, all guys like that, right? I wouldn’t mind.”

“You’re going to give Parrish a blow job for being the person you _think_ did your chores?”

Stiles pouts. “Do you think it should be more? Like a blowie and a handie at a later date? Oh, a date! Maybe I should take him out on a date.”

Derek stalks forward so he’s standing in Stiles’s space. “You are _not_ doing any sexual favors for Parrish or taking him on a date.”

“I’m not?”

“No.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because he didn’t fucking do anything!”

And Stiles smirks like he’s the cat that got the cream. “Is this you finally confessing, or are you faking responsibility because you want this mouth on your dick?” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows. 

Derek sighs and rubs his face. “Yes, I cleaned and did things for you, and I’ll take a date as thanks.” 

“You didn’t say no to the blow job, though,” Stiles points out.

“Let’s do the date first and see where it leads,” Derek says, resting his hands on Stiles’s hips.

“So date then BJs?”

Derek rolls his eyes and then kisses Stiles before he can make a comment on the gesture.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Stiles says once they break the kiss, their foreheads resting against each other.

Derek lets out a huff and Stiles grins. He should be sick more often. Maybe he can get Derek to do his homework next time…

“I’m not doing your homework,” Derek says.

Apparently he said that outloud. “Not even if I promise a sexual favor?” 

Derek groans. “That’s it,” he says and hefts Stiles over his shoulder and carries him up the stairs to his bedroom.

It’s Derek that gives the blow job, but it’s effective and keeps Stiles quiet on the subject long enough for them to go on their date. Well long enough to have dinner, dessert not so much. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://literaryoblivion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/lit_oblivion).


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